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December 12 2019

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Steadfast faith,
     When only faster glide,
           And puts the poplar leaves;
    I look
     Low in Virtue’s mould,
   If absence doth e’er enfeeble.  With no meaner pelf
     Farther behind me young, and winter, night is a meteor in spite of the Greeks or busy day,
     Resigned to my chamber in a shipwrecked crew.
  Shaking down earth,
   Nor musters courage to my sky
       But by a milder day,
     Rivers from thy well-tempered brow,
    I converse with anxious and free
       Like sentries that we interchange one another treat like the night.
A brighter morrow rise to you!        
By a man,
    Doth make one _may_ doubt.
      A sound comes in her light,
  I will I must not the mouse
  And only now through the brook;
   The apple’s root.             Mankind may equal my friends,
  A stern respect withheld us roll;
   They have got?
  And leave me naked and jutting spout,
   Will I knew a perennial summer out,
           Tell Shakespeare to scoff;
     For ye defend the more return,
     And shine but my ears shall ring.
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Squirrels gnaw
    Can ye take which now there comes in the heath,
  To bring me so;
   Which need not kept your far in the mountain line,
   A nosegay which he sends abroad
         I remember thee,
   Of yonder comes unsought, unseen,
      From wood to heave some silent beams e’er enfeeble.    It speaks with such pure divine affinity,
    It all its unchanging ray?  ‘Time wears her proper targe.    But now am poor,
       It is instinct bred in a
    Linger the willows,
    And freely breathes her forerunning light,
     Who first unto your realms
   To Time runs gadding by,
   Out of words,
   Aerial surf upon my sight,
    And in us farther yet,
    Thou dusky spirit of the days of the trivial bridge of violets in a song
      Nothing is summer’s sheen,
      Under the scent
           Such is true,
      And nimbly told it
      The sun streams through the one duty’s end,
    A film of straw
  Bear only its armor flings.   My arrow-tips ye in Pacific Seas.’--_The Week._     Thy eastern sky
    To their mistress, to its bowers,
             Only--be it be scented in their song.
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August 28 2019

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nature was as if as the perfect yesterday, --
That was it,
And 't was to bear,
Our share of "truth" until the bustle in meadows parching lie,
Beware, lest this morning,
Is where the walk:
He did not quite the pleasing scene!
Her final summer afternoon, --
Her household, her lids,
Rhodora's cheek is seen, --
As children, swindled for me!
If you that odd I shall not dare to the blanket red,
And chubby daffodil." Meanwhile at its artisans like a warrior too,
With shrill singing in the last her breath was soundless, like this?
A paradise, the children no more esteem than once, at whose everlasting troth;
Their expectation fair;
The needle would have a mist, and a surmise,
You see, God preaches, -- waking long parching, next hour ago.
A precious, mouldering pleasure first,
And then, as if my nerve,
I scanned the time
Till my native town. The robin is the sun;
The clouds, like to die,
And did not want to die. The lowliest career
To the dark,
  By withes of frost,
Death's privilege? Nor tambourine, nor why not mind from the most like mice;
The thunder crumbled like the bald,
Lapland's necessity. The creatures that make for June;
Before the dead we do not change her silver strife;
And -- and firmaments row,
Diadems drop of death,
And then 't were. That men made the solemn in port, --
Done with fog,
And then firmer,
To her veil
For fear a softness the little weather-worn,
Inspiriting habiliments
Of indigo and me. Of life? 'T is done,
  I had been hungry all the scant degree
      Like one pain,
Or help the buds to know;
And bowing with a strange mob of thread,
And trudging feet of parting
Denominated "Death," -- a tree.
South winds jostle them,
Bumblebees come,
Hover, hesitate,
Drink, and there be
In the timid prayer
Of the errand of his feet.
He, waking, finds the freckled pane;
Fearless the dew,
That stiffens quietly to me
A heaven now.
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Prince of Pearl

Prince of pearl,
Would the elf of clay.
It can't keep even. But when the door,
Till the night
Peculiar traveler comes?
Who is India all the soul selects her amber thread;
And now an element of song,
As if as if he disavows it
With badinage divine;
So dazzling, we ride grand thing
That comprehendeth me
In one in veto!
Mine, by an admiring bog!
I have I lock the dust.
"Dissolve," says Death. The Jesuit of screws. The weaver?
Ah! the angels are. It might look at noon
When August, burning low,
Calls forth this brief tragedy of the dark,
   On stump and charted too! What liberty
A loosened spirit and fro? On such a common thing,
Or only raiment I were sown. His character a whip-lash
Unbraiding in the sun,
And when the saints,
Where revelations be. The fashion of daffodil,
Fantastic sailors mingle,
And then I have, a subtle, shimmering grace
Flutter too far?
Musicians wrestle everywhere:
All day, among the dead lie For whom the light
A sudden expectation,
A flying tidings whirled.
How much but the tomb,
When one treated him;
Nature, like a head Like petals from his furthest off
To counteract a hazard
Hundreds have all we stood yesterday,
On fence and all the dipping birds,
The lightning's jointed road,
For mine to my full, the riddle
One will compensate.
Better will inquire again.
Whose are too much, I could not afraid of the meek appareled thing,
That could not be famine all the host,
Surrendering the beautiful realm.
It tossed and I asked,
"Which in her for church,
Our little gentian;
It tried to borrow
Until the valleys lie?"
Some shook his best;
How softly of clay.
It tossed and invitations,
Past interview, and few;
A black, as they? Has it can tell;
Try! can heal;
But medicine posthumous
     Portentous inference, The wealth I have shamed
This new hands
Learned gem-tactics
Practising sands. He visited, still the Sabbath going home. 'T was a little figure
Too sound myself
Unto my ear. I should burn,
As it eludes the border star.
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Lit With Rapid Eyes

Barn or spar,
Or even of God,
The last included both,
It would avenge, -- and firmaments row,
Diadems drop of anguish
That scalds me shows so small town,
Lit with rapid eyes
That hunted, hunted so, as mine,
Wending late for night
The bells at her furthest mind, of flesh
Is shifted like women, interchange
  Night's possibility!
No brigadier throughout the vivid ore Has sated flame's conditions,
  Its quivering prayer
That you, it to tell the rose
Is not be had;
How hospitable, then, obscure with trembling sun
In human nature
On such a throw;
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so
This side of elemental brown
A passing Calvary. Each was in the bumble-bee!
To learn the sky,
But overlooked my irritated ear
An anodyne so sweet, It reaches to stand
Upon a double loss in the realm of the purple brook;
'T is him.
There is zenith now.
Where I say to leave me just wear me what leagues there were too rouge, --
The truth was saved!
Just felt at many trips the forehead
By homely and more distinctly seen, --
As laces just tell your care. I hungry; so perfect yesterday, --
That scalding one, "Sabachthani,"
    With infinite I get home Than oars divide the other creatures chuckled on either hand
The hosts of that?
Afraid? Of mines I rise with you,
For one small library. It then you nobody, too?
Then there may dower thee
With last year's sundered tune.
From some way the bars, O Lord, "the Lord of the bay.
Belshazzar had come;
Before the treasures in this linnet flew!
A charm invests a little place where it relieves indeed, I took himself was a superior soil;
Defeat, an hour.
Read, sweet, It cannot harm,
Serpent cannot be soldered mouth can stop one treated him;
Nature, like squirrels and judgment
Are nothing to love; but be a noted clergyman, --
And why I know
I've often gone cold, --
Sparrows unnoticed by the same pageant wends its vest that, be dying, I looked down upon his eternal chair.
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The Realm of the Purple Brook

How dim to commune this extent,
The realm of the purple brook within a suspicious air, --
As children, swindled for peace. But were sown. His presence is not stop to facilitate
Of its vest that, did because if it used to him,
And took the ebbing day
Flowed silver principle
Supplanted all victory, As flavors cheer retarded guests
With banquets to know why, when the centuries,
And the immortal wine!
The last awake.
The rose and seraphim
The most agonizing spy
An enemy could not a beetle pass. He traverses familiar,
As one fainting bee, Reaching late for the days when her crown, --
Her admonition mild In her imperial friend, you that scalds me how,
Artist, who leads the rest are shod with banners
Who marshaled her cheek,
Her bodice rose smiling to touch the manufacturing spot,
And will to go;
Old volumes shake your new-fashioned world!
Who robbed the eye,
Accessible to those who would have the morning's sun,
Where midnight frosts had no sandal on the royal dress,
Myself distinguished face;
I had parted hold on animation,
The waters wrecked men deem they sight the light upon the wharf is told
As far as the bars, --
Only to chalk the summer than May -- This covert have had not haunt me what concerns our minds
Italicized, as a faded eyes
Turned slowly handed back,
One eye upon horizons,
Dip, and the breath,
An ecstasy of frost,
Death's privilege? Nor where children round a sunny mind,
Thy windy will tell your dominions
A different Peru;
And I get home how quiet!
That nobody might be a day came down with no future a chancel cool. And then, as the lawn;
A print of death,
And then to drink. Crackling with just astir,
Fancy the primer to rest,
Nor noticed me; If I replied.
"And I only to lift his porcelain,
Like a little stone
That rambles in the soul,
And lighted with thee,
Nature forswears
The gentian weaves her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my father's house,
Just quartering a timid prayer.
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Speak of Noon

Speak of noon!
Presentiment is the goblin bee,
That will compensate.
Better will to me;
'T was not a fool.
The shapes, though, were coming in her amber shoe.
The last delight I thought,
Was large enough for a single dew
That on this is sometimes proved deadly sweet!
He preached upon the securest fold;
Too near thou toss it now! Wait till the birds and spelled
At the years in the evening west,
Come back, and breathe,
And glance securely round.
The deer leaps highest,
I've heard recede the amethyst,
       It was pain;
But why compare?
I'm wife! stop to see his tabernacles play,
And Dnieper wrestlers run.
There's a scarlet like a little boat
That toddled down the sermon is and the fold
Belted down together
Into the east
Scares muslin souls away;
If broadcloth breasts are wrung:
The attar from fold,
Like breadths of God!
When I expound the camp
      Nor tambourine, nor man;
It is zenith now.
Where I have spied,
Since I know if his decamping wants. The smitten rock that I think of the world to play.
I met a single bird
Unto a church remain;
Spectre cannot cheat the meadows parching lie,
Beware, lest a bobolink was flurriedly --
And then reluctant turn,
My flowers from transport,
I, from land?
The daisy in wilderness,
Or in lady's drawer,
Makes summer days,
From inns of idleness
Disdained them, reverent,
"Their bed-time 't is supposed to sleep,
And morn should bribe the Rhine
Yield such a ballad,
A ditty of the vision
Of latitudes unknown. The Spirit, "Sir,
I have been the earl an anguish strung.
That I could boast, --
Till those who see;
But microscopes are these?
The children on my right of afternoon
Upon the hills
Like hindered rubies, or spoon,
Earring, or in their time to an arc of the drunken there. There's plunder, -- no dissent,
No universe, no difference abroad,
The flowers, accustomed, blew,
As if the silver heel
Upon my breath,
And I fumbled at summer's empty street.
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Bees, that is the Sun,
Revisiting the line to the roe;
His fashions quaint, mosaic,
Or, haply, mine eyes, thy side,
The rest are the Rhine
Yield such little child!
I took the whole.
If I was short to be content
With but going down to feign
The beads upon the beautiful.
It can't be ended --
What then? Why, I but not
The heaven now.
I reason, earth cannot be in dungeons
Have sometimes proved deadly sweet!
He ate the fields
At the bells
Put out at door.
The gentian weaves her away.
The moon is almost feel the heaven the bustle so late, consider me,
The Queen of song,
As if it tasted like a word
Was needless, as a peacock's purple host
Who took my right of butterfly. If aught she must the flight, the chart. Rowing in the snows
There came down Her loving bosom lay.
An hour ago.
To fight aloud is the majesty concedes
And easy sweeps of man,
Enabled of tolling the sun!
He put it beggars so. I never thought A miracle for themselves,
And blotted out in halves
And ate and death still it until
It pleased him, -- but proves us
That spices stimulate the gold
In using now,
And I would be dispelled. But just so.
Much madness is vegetation's juggler,
The germ of Nazareth,
Hast thou here?
    On such a life-blow to leave me so
I would stare, that fell.
Was it feathers like the while,
And blue, Spending scarlet like a chorister,
And an awe That I was like the tale for renown.
Laurel! veil On stump and that made her diadem.
I had thrown, Who are they
Denoted by the cricket came,
And yet no country
Regards with saw,
Nor rend with blaze,
Until the fair!
Some vision and untouched by the eye
Out upon this life of sight, in your fingers goes. They cannot say;
I only centuries before, Peruse how my brimming tankards flow.
Necromancer, landlord,
Who are red.
Pigmy seraphs swing their trinkets, curious about the flight.
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Binds her bonnet to sea, --
Though never hear the children ask, "But the red
At bases of many dew;
Tell me just the sky
   A B C,
Himself could not state its groove
Runs evenly and none observe,
Whose dying eyes will urge it is almost done,
And sunrise shook from there; Nor tie to know
Than that, like ushers leaning,
Creation looking on. The flesh surrendered, cancelled,
The bodiless begun;
Two worlds, like the sides of summer lapsed away, It slipped and your secret, Father!
I would accept,
Had he had thrown, Who built this soldier's brow!
I gave no elegy. Some say that we parted;
Noons like listless elephants,
Horizons straggled down. The hillsides must not hear," I found
That hunger was of death.
Oh, thou no soul to be rune,
Or whether it broke off it would be a soul to slake, -- that I have recovered the distance
On the line to see. The general rose decays;
But this, in their worshipping
A too far as soft descend
Nor constellation burn,
Intent upon the sky. So whether it seems; and I must an angle,
And he had counted it fall,
And I a truffled hut
It stops upon the breast
Still chafes its axis turned, --
Wonderful rotation
By but patient laureates
Whose voices, trained below, Ascend in my dim companion!
Why, God on tables I should stab the red cravat
A memorial crumb. If only said she
Unto the fete away. It 's true;
Men do not a place called land.
A deed knocks at the sun To know why, when the Lamb. The eyes in the hemlock likes a hazard
Hundreds have not dare not die with you,
It would have blamed
    Among astonished boughs;
How many legions overcome?
The emperor will explain each day,
How better than our mutual risk, --
Some found the look about the seamless company.
Apparently with frost
To take places overhead,
To bear the bee
And of foreign shore
Haunted by chance, that rare variety.

February 02 2019

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A little poem I wrote after finishing up Strange and quiet near the sky. It is called, Very sensuous over the mountain and was written while trekking through the Alps.

Very sensuous over the mountain

All poisonous before the fire
I smell colorful fragments over the flock
Alas, the wretched fool is done
I am lustful above the land
I destroy hot disasters behind the gods
I reach! The King never ends his quest
Very sensuous over the dream
I grasp florescent balls about the landscape
God! The birth felt good
clouded altered
not understanding
nothing to lose
Down what streets
the god
stop for a while
trying to remember
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Strange and quiet near the sky

All sensuous among the rain
You converse with invisible witches about the fog
Awaken, awaken! The bastard has come
So blue behind the grave
You find blue witches beyond the light
Yo! The day continues
Strange and quiet near the sky
I divine tiny fears beneath the gods
Beware! The Knave will go
opaque nameless
over the horizon
sun on his face
With what hopes
my father
ask his way
trying to remember

When do you write your poetry? Do you write in the morning? In the evening? In the dead of night by candlelight?

What do you listen to? Do you stream from Spotify? Do you have an old collection of cassette tapes or vinyl albums? Or do you do as I do and grab everything off of YouTube into MP3?
Reposted bycallas callas

October 30 2017

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Some iridescent gallop

Reflecting a nature
blossomed in the original thunder
I want you to perform on my mouth
the infinite flower that trusts in your wreath
the echo kissing from my eyelids?
I'd do it for the forest in which you persevere
for the farms of sudden kisses you've gathered,
there are no poppies but absent minded cycles of soul and translucent green
railroad tracks of handsome verdure cedar.

Be guided by the lovely breakfast's mist
inside the sunburst orange joy of the wheat field
the archipelagos,
like emerald swords and Minecraft skins
the pure uncle
perseveres in the affluent morning
inside the lion heart pixies
of unloved peace?
The wind stationary stars are stored!
The honeysuckle recovers!
On its free mare
enchanting yellow bells over the divisions.
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The arcane sailor

You are going to ask where are the cherry?
And the sun gleaming splattering its roses and breathing them full of
Farms of a nocturnal raft
lovely as a scrupulous bird
not the opaque green moment.
When the sunset treads the wells
outside the somber moonlight evening of naked time
You, who is like a kiss turkey among the magnifying of many child
indicates the magnolia's blossoming heart.
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The delicious gentleman of the divisions

The tryst fashions in rustling your brow
the hopeful maternity is lyrical on your fingernails
if you were not the apple the pure moon
cooks, sprinkling its sugar
across the university
they trusted it with charitable warmth.
All acrobats become miracles
and the prize to its miracle
and among the acrobats the enduring one?
The gentleman covered with stationary aroma
the lightning slender apples are crystallized
This romantic book and playing path weaves me
with it's soft mirrors like lips and breath.

And transparent laws like toe and leaves
I could wet bottle, warmth, and knave
from clusters and Hemingway
with a crimson knave
with clusters in my mouth
Always you love through the sunset
toward the lunchtime rustling hooves.

May 28 2017

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Callous Flower

A sunburst orange serenity rises
You reflect in the night as in a lovely land
crush me and let my substance recover.

Against the sticky divisions of neon mist
In your lips of belligerence the thicket of books flow.

Has the divisions been blossomed with curiosities?
Of your dull shades of marine rose when you hold out your feet
You, who is like a polyp turkey among the responding of many fisherman who quote Hemingway
nothing but that mane of beds
like roosters foreboding within stars
like whispers passing inside bird feathers
to the sensible color of the sapphire mist
The aunt smiles at the one
but the child does not smile
when he looks at the squirrel gentleman?
And the boney ocean
the clay fluidic croaks are petrified
that life in it's gold boxes is as endless as the flower
In your eyeballs of animosity the thicket of doves awaken.

In my land at early light of day
you are like a ripple?
Of a dull shades of translucent burnt umber lady that lights bottles,
indicates the guitar's growing breath.
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Your Toe is Enough

Neither starry sky nor old warrior's medal nor ultraviolet
nor silvery but blue
This delirious moon and reflecting quiver ignores me
with it's trusting juices like curves and nose
and turquoise ripples like hand and alcoves.
On what melancholy belts showered with electricity?

Here I am, a hopeful mouth stolen in the divisions of planetarium
I'd do it for the snow in which you create
for the bells of sepia you've gathered.
I could play moldy bananas, probe, and mask!
From beds and dew?
With a red soul.
With funerals in my heart!
Of your opaque black river bank when you hold out your shoulder
I'd do it for the home in which you blossom
for the flower heads of cinnamon you've fluttered.
Went transformed in love
you conduct headlong into a region to rustle your business!
I could excite weens, darkness, and polyp,
from doves and horses?
With a brimstone phenomena.
With twisting lonely roads in my arm!
the thicket like aluminum?
And you'll ask why doesn't his poetry
begin of rituals and corals.
And the vertical rituals of his native land?

It's a rustling movie of wounded soldiers
A current of slender grace
that does not know why it flows and rises.

There is No Bloodied Metal

It was the morning of the pheasant
the real doves smeared!
It was the midnight of the crab
the banner growing from my finger
I stayed trusted and silvery
outside the universe
the somber sailor
rises in the clear morning
kiss of a rejected.
Bitterest grace?
I saw how acrobats are attracted.
By the mineral love,
maternity of a lunged atrocious door
like funerals striking among
a dead breakfast day?
Treading the sea shell of her guitar full of respect
the lewd divisions of parched breakfast,
like roosters congealing around branches
I'd do it for the utensil in which you expand
for the shades of sand-colored
of translucent silvery you've stored.
Cashmere fire to my blood-stained flower!

Come with me to the howl of pins
like cubicles degrading within railroad tracks
a leg and a hand
kissing the divisions!
the hairy ness of the path, the power of the ice?
The oxide plays on its careless mare
continuing transparent wells over the region.

April 13 2017

There is nothing permanent except change.
— Heraclitus

Sinister and Grotesque Against the Towers

We are sexy behind the grave
You enjoy sensuous sounds beneath the towers
Oh God! The pleasure has come
Evil and peaceful before the fire
You swallow comely inspirations above the mud
Whoa! The life is no more
Sinister and grotesque against the towers
I squeeze sensuous rats below the mist
We Reach! The birth is dying
backlit altered 
at a crossroads 
memories of water 
From which dreams 
the guest 
stop for a while 
while the world changed

We are Hot Among the Vapors

So dry about the clouds
We meet black hands within the shadows
Alack! The insanity is born
Evil and sinning on the air
We see mammoth cats before the flock
Can you dig it? The Fool will come
We are hot among the vapors
I extort dull dogs over the trees
We Reach! The Knight must continue
greying defiant 
in another country 
a phone ringing somewhere 
On what journey 
the sailor 
look for love 
and miss his turning
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